


Only Human

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuties, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Light Angst, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: AKA "The One Where Castiel Gets a Cold."
Cas experiences his first human illness. Dean is there to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a writing rut for awhile; this little piece of fluff was something I'd had on the back burner that I finished just to get back into the swing of things. For me, this is uncharacteristically fluffy... enjoy it while it lasts. :)

The first thought that crosses Castiel’s mind as he opens his eyes is that his _skin hurts_. He groans and makes an attempt to sit up - an attempt he abandons halfway through because, honestly, it’s not just his skin that hurts. It’s everything. It’s his whole vessel--

_Body_ , he reminds himself. _It’s my body_. And it hurts. Everywhere.

No, remaining flat on his back is totally fine. This works. For a little while, at least. Or maybe the whole day.

He attempts to draw a deep breath for relaxation and fails, finding instead that the draw of breath is akin to breathing in shards of glass, and the exhale comes out as a sputter that gives no respite before it becomes a chest-deep cough.

“Cas?”

That’s Dean. Cas groans at the voice and throws his head back in defeat. “Yes,” he responds in the direction of the ceiling, and immediately regrets the vocalization because, apparently, he swallowed a porcupine at some point during the night, the remnants of which are still in his throat. He coughs in a pitiful attempt to clear the pain, but it only serves to bring fire on top of the painful quills.

Dean appears in the doorway, hands full of two plates of what looks like bacon and eggs - and maybe would smell like it, too, if Castiel had any use of his olfactory nerves. His nostrils are completely blocked - and yet they continue to leak yellow-green mucus, which makes absolutely no sense at all. “Hey, I brought you-- oh, woah. You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” It sounds as gravely as it feels, and he seems to be unable to talk without following every sentence up with a cough. As this fit racks his lungs, he sags pitifully back against the mattress, eyes closed, and because it’s _Dean_ , he allows for a whine - something he’d consider a completely unacceptable lack of composure in front of anyone else.

Dean sighs and sets the still-steaming plates aside on his nightstand as he sits down next to Castiel on the bed and places a cupped hand against his forehead. Cas closes his eyes and leans into the touch as Dean says, “Well, you’re not burning up. That’s a good sign. Just a good ol’ fashioned cold.”

“I don’t feel cold.”

“No, Cas, it’s-- forget it.” Dean drops his hand and turns a smile on Castiel. “It just means you picked up a virus. Happens to the best of us. You’re gonna feel like absolute crap for a couple days, that’s for sure, but it won’t kill you. Bedrest, some chicken soup and you’ll be good as new in no time.” His hand comes up again, this time to purposefully cradle the right side of Castiel’s face in his palm. He strokes a thumb over the stubbled skin and Cas closes his eyes and gives a relaxed “hmmm.”

“You should eat that before it gets cold.”

“Nuh-uh. You first.” Dean grabs one of the plates and steadies a fork on it as he stretches out on the bed facing Cas and stabs at the scrambled eggs a few times before holding the full fork up to the fallen angel. “Eat.”

“I’m not a child, Dean.”

Dean’s only acknowledgement is a skyward roll of his eyes. “ _Eat_ ,” he repeats, and Cas responds with a roll of his own eyes before he complies. “There, see,” Dean continues as he lowers the fork for another bite. “Protein. It’ll burn slow, keep your strength up.” There’s a pause as Castiel accepts the second bite without protest and Dean lowers the fork again, but his eyes never leave Castiel’s, and the corners of his mouth play up into a smile with a huff of a laugh. He’s getting that faraway look Cas loves - he’s looking at Cas, but not; his mind is elsewhere, poking at a distant memory. “My dad,” he says finally, as he loads another bite more slowly than the first two, “He had this saying. _Starve a fever, feed a cold_. Well. I dunno where he got that little lick of parental wisdom, but damn if it didn’t carry Sammy n’ me through the illnesses of our formative years.” As his brother’s name rolls off his tongue, Dean’s eyes go even more distant, and he stops talking. Another beat and eye contact is broken completely as Dean focuses solely on the task of feeding Castiel bite by bite. When the eggs are gone, he reaches down for one of the three pieces of bacon on the plate and holds it up for Cas to take a bite.

Cas lets his eyes focus on the strip being held in front of his face and can’t help but smile and turn sparkling eyes on the tough, jaded hunter who’d just fed him with all of the gentleness of a nursemaid. “That’s vaguely obscene.”

He gets the response he wants - Dean’s full smile, teeth and all, and the bubble of the sound filling the room before Dean ducks his head to shake it, rub the back of his own neck and continue a quieter chuckle into his own lap. When he sobers, his eyes meet Castiel’s and find the smile looking back at him - small and pained, but the best the former angel can manage at the moment. When Dean offers the bacon again, Cas clenches a small bite between his teeth.

He hadn’t expected that Dean would bite it from the other end, and the way their eyes meet across the strip of bacon throws him off. Dean, undeterred, wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he takes a slow bite, and continues to swallow the strip of bacon until all that’s left between their faces is the tiny piece Cas is holding onto with his teeth. He takes the bite and accepts an offered peck on the lips - cool like drops of rain in the desert. He’s not sure about Dean’s diagnosis that he doesn’t have a fever, and he can’t for his life tell if it’s Dean’s proximity or the illness that’s making his heart race and his head spin.

Whatever the case, Dean gets his composure and backs off with a clearing of his throat, stealing one of the remaining pieces of bacon for himself and handing the other to Castiel before sitting up to dig into his own plate. And Cas, having done his penance and eaten everything Dean offered to him, considers himself off the clock and curls back into his pillows as another coughing fit rattles his chest.

“Man, Cas, that sounds awful. I’m sorry.”

He considers Dean’s statement through a haze and attempts to express something profound, but it comes out as a mess of mutters against his pillows and Dean’s leaning closer to catch it. “What’s that?”

“Serves no purpose.” It’s still a mumble, but he lifts his head and the words manage to not get lost in the pillow this time. He coughs, sniffles, and then continues roughly, “This illness. When Humanity was still in its cradle it might’ve taken out a whole village, served as population control, but now… it persists, in spite of itself. Why? You… we,” he corrects, pausing, feeling the taste of the word on his tongue in this context, “Humans,” he tries again, and that feels better. “Humans are built to withstand it. Why hasn’t it given up?”

“Hmmm.” Cas buries himself in the pillow as another coughing fit overtakes him, and he feels the comfort of Dean’s hand bracing his back. “Why is every single human being still born with an appendix? Why are cockroaches built to withstand a radioactive nuke? There are a lot of unanswered questions in the universe, Cas, and yeah. The common cold among them, I agree.” There are a couple of firm pats of Dean’s hand against his back and then the sure press of a warm body curling around his spine. “You really wanna know what I think?”

Cas just nods against his pillow.

“I think,” Dean begins, and there’s a pause as Dean’s fingers begin to card lazily through Cas’ hair, “It’s because they’re just as stubborn as us, not knowing when to call it quits, always thinkin’... always thinkin’ maybe this time will be different. Maybe this mutation, this alteration, this immunity will be the one that wins it all for them. Turns into the Black Plague, knocks out the Human population to make way for something bigger ‘n better. I think,” his arms drop and come around Cas’ middle, “that when it comes right down to it, when it’s Humanity’s turn to go up on the Endangered Species List, it won’t be some biblical apocalypse that gets us there. It’ll be something we don’t even notice until it’s too late. Something that start small and simple.”

“Lucifer would agree with you.”

“Yeah, I uh… I suppose he would, huh?” The reality of how right he is seems to sober Dean, and he pulls Cas a little tighter. “Anyway. This thing you got is just a cold, like I said. I’ll go out in a bit, get you some meds to help you sleep it off.”

“You could go now.”

There’s a kiss pressed against the back of his neck, and Castiel relaxes further into Dean’s embrace, and into his pillows. “It can wait.”

“For what?”

“Nothing, I guess. Except this. It can wait for this.” He says nothing more, just settles comfortably into the bed, obviously content to stay for the long haul.

At some point, Castiel falls asleep. When next he opens his eyes, he’s alone, but there’s a note on the nightstand, and a bottle of red liquid with a dosing cup turned upside down over the cap.

He picks up the note first.

_Out interviewing for a case. Back soon. 2 Tablespoons of the red stuff when you wake up - don’t let the mega virus win!_

_Love, Dean_

It’s not until Cas has downed the awful medicine and is nearly back to sleep that it floats through his mind, and he smiles, wondering if Dean even realizes that he’s finally let the “L” word slip.

_Maybe I should get sick more often._

He dismisses that thought as a fresh fit of coughing shakes his body and has him curling in on himself.

_Or maybe I could just say it back_.

That eases his mind, and he drifts back off to sleep.


End file.
